Dragonbane
by Praedyth
Summary: The Dragonborn was meant to be his slayer, not his ally. And as Alduin and the Dovahkiin rewrite destiny as Tamriel's greatest threat they become surprisingly tied to one another. But fate always finds a way to put itself back on course, it always does. [fem!Dragonborn x Alduin]
1. PROLOGUE

**PROLOGUE**

"The greatest enemies are meant to be the greatest allies."

* * *

The wind was bitter, it nipped at the Dragonborn's rosy cheeks like a wolf gnawed at bones. Having just glimpsed into the past to find the weakness of the World-Eater, the lovely woman with rosy cheeks felt a new power reside within her very soul. Dragonrend, the ability to bring even the great Alduin himself to his knees, was now at her disposal. It made her lungs become full of a nearly pridefully chilly air at the very thought. To bring the great dragon to her feet, such power that it truly was.

In spite of Paarthurnax's urgency at the situation, however, they had been too late to make the reading of the Elder Scroll quick. The World-Eater had recognized the signs and had come to put an end to his enemy. With a great flap of his black wings and a rush of air, the son of Akatosh had come to the world's throat to deal with the Dragonborn. Like a thorn in his side he had become tired of her. He had only wish to rid himself of the annoying thing that amused to call herself his enemy.

" _Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor._ My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals _,_ Dovahkiin _._ " The great black beast bellowed with a mighty force. "Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

Behind the Dragonborn her ally had also taken to the skies, his wings causing a flurry of cold ice to sting at her already red cheeks. " _Lost funt._ You are too late, Alduin! _Dovahkiin_! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

The Throat of the World made for an excellent fond farewell to the great black dragon and yet the Dragonborn felt a curious if not bemused sense of pride at the entire situation. Escaping imprisonment, killing dragons and stealing their souls, not to mention many more tiring situations than those and for what, exactly? To kill this mighty and proud beast? There was a certain truth to the whole matter that made the Dovahkiin almost tired, exasperated more like. In spite of Paarthurnax's urging and Alduin's ferocity, the Dragonborn found herself thinking upon the situation. To what end would this hold to destroy this creature?

Fate may have destined her to kill the World-Eater, to make sure that she had put an end to Akatosh's self-proclaimed son, but what if she were not to? What if she were to go against such a fate and laugh at that destiny? Thinking further into it there was no glory in killing this beast, nobody would know of her deeds or his death. It was a waste of a life truly, World-Eater or not.

"Alduin, I do not wish to fight you! I wish to speak to you!" The woman shouted with her own force then. The midnight wind stung against her flushed red cheeks as her golden eyes stared upward. The dragon of ebony scales could be heard laughing as the female below stood as a feeling of pride began to well within her lungs. He dare laugh at her? Did he not know the dire heart of the situation from her being his fated slayer? Alongside the pride came the anger. It was a full, deep anger that made her chest swell.

" _Dovahkiin,_ you call yourself? Arrogant mortal." He spat with a cruel, if not ignorant, attitude. It only made the anger in her blood boil and her fingers clench together. The eyes of pure gold picked out the darker dragon against the night sky and with a deep breath the words formed with her tongue. Pursed lips and full cheeks, she shouted out against the cold winter night.

" _Joorzahfrul!_ "

With a burst of her voice the thu'um cut through the sky like a strike of lightning and almost instantly the World-Eater came toppling down to the ground. It was a deep quake that rumbled beneath her sending the woman off balance but quickly regaining her footwork, the Dragonborn soon met the eye of Alduin himself. Above Paarthurnax could be heard warning the woman that this was a dangerous act and yet she had ignored it. There were things that needed addressing and they became ever more pressing.

"My teeth to your neck, _Dovahkiin_!" He hissed with a seething hate.

"You would be a fool to speak to me like that," The Dragonborn said in more of a disapproving tone than meant. "I intend to offer you my allegiance, World-Eater. Not to kill you."

There was a scoff at the thought as the dragon writhed on the ground. "Ally myself with my such arrogance? Bah!"

Overhead Paarthurnax had continued his warnings and though the Dragonborn heeded his worrying she began to disregard it. Alduin, for all his might and worth, seemed almost desperate in his situation despite his own disregarding. He was a proud beast and being subject to another's prison was never a comforting situation. There was hate and discomfort and it was rolling off of him like water rolled off of rocks. It made the Dragonborn feel stronger than ever.

"We could take over all of Tamriel, Nirn even. We would be unstoppable together." She mused softly, almost cooing like. The very thought sat better than the idea of killing him. It made her feel like all of the time getting to this moment wasn't wasted after all.

"I am the World-Eater!" He shouted with a great force as if trying to shout it to Akatosh himself. " _Mulaagi zok lot!_ I will rule alone if I so choose it!"

Despite the clear defiance the Dragonborn merely shook her head at him. "We could be a great force together, we could bring the world to it's knees. I promise you. Let me show you my faith by slaying your enemy."

As if curious only by force, Alduin watched as the Dragonborn turned to face the sky. There was a sudden shudder in the air as the sky cracked with a thundering force. Within moments Paarthurnax had also been subject to the Dovahkiin's thu'um and unlike Alduin betrayal caught him off guard. With a crash that nearly rivaled Alduin's own fall, the other dragon found himself at the mercy of the rosy-cheeked woman whose golden eyes glinted with a certain ferocity.

Paarthurnax struggled more than Alduin had and though begging like an injured animal whimpered for it's life, the Dragonborn withdrew her great axe to be the executioner. Alduin was quiet as he watched the woman turn upon her ally just as Paarthurnax had once turned upon him. The feeling of hatred finding itself within his heart once more. Memories of his own demise making itself ever more present than usual.

" _Drem!_ _Dovahkiin!_ Peace!" The creature of faded scales implored with a strained tone. "Alduin is your enemy! Nirn's enemy!"

The golden eyes of the Dragonborn stared down to the struggling dragon as her axe was raised high. Whatever mercy she once held was gone now, it made her grip tighter at the thought. Paarthurnax continued to struggle as he tried to move away from his impending demise. Many years, countless centuries, they were all to be gone within moments and by what he had thought to be a friend. Thoughts of Alduin, his brother, came to mind as his mind flashed wildly. Like tides upon sand, things like this always came back to haunt. Always.

And then with a heavy force the Dovahkiin sealed her fate with a powerful cleave. Then one after another, each swing more violent than the next, the Dragonborn was no longer the savior that was promised by the Elder Scrolls themselves. Alduin was amused by the turn of events and found himself able to sit up, his dark eyes staring the Dragonborn over.

 _"Meyz mul, Dovahkiin._ You have become strong." The dark beast scoffed lightly, unwilling to show his pleasure at the thought. "But I am _Al-du-in_ , Firstborn of Akatosh! _Mulaagi zok lot!_ "

Standing still and quiet, her eyes overlooking her work before his soul was to be hers, the Dragonborn could only accept her doing as the beginning of something brighter. "And let us go take what is ours," she said as she turned to her new ally. "to where do we go?"

Alduin laughed then and the mountain shook. The wind was cold as he took to the air once more, the flurry of snow and ice making her cheeks sting once more as they always did. And suddenly the feeling of great talons wrapping themselves around the form of the Dragonborn caused a lack of air in her lungs. They were allies now, they were to rule all of Tamriel.


	2. I

**I. WINDHELM**

Dovahkiin & Alduin

* * *

It began with the razing of the Stormcloak capital, Windhelm.

Alduin was a fierce beast of black scales, they didn't see him coming for the night had long hours yet to come and the only light had been from the moons of Maser and Secunda. The dragon was impatient, he wanted proof that his decision in trusting the Dovahkiin was not worthless, and before the great fires of war raged on he dropped her before the bridge to the magnificent city. The snow was soft and the billow of white flakes made the ivory strands of her hair fly about. Fiercely she walked forward, each proud footstep leaving an imprint in the snow. This destiny felt right.

The wind felt colder here than it did on the mountain. She hated the sea, hated the smell, the water was for fools and elves as far as she was concerned. Upon the gusts of ocean spray came the smell of fire and the screaming of innocent souls that Alduin began to terrorize. A smile curled her plump lips as a thought of bardic tales came to mind as she continued her walk towards the large gate, a tune following suit with an almost skip-like hope. " _Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky."_ The Dragonborn mused to the moons above her. " _His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes._ "

Her voice was light and airy but she was no bard. Singing was the only thing that she had remembered her mother being good at but it was never a trait passed down to her. The Dragonborn was good at two things and only two things: wielding big blades and talking her way out of predicaments, and not with a silver-tongue either. But with gold as lovely as her eyes. There was no such thing as sneaking in her blood, no such thing as luck, just punching and bribing. And she was damn good at punching things bigger than her. That she got from her father, Divines take him.

Beneath her thick pelts and fur she shivered with a chilling delight as her fingers opened the door to reveal a savory sight of ash and flame. Alduin that wretched beast hadn't taken long to cause mayhem and death as far as the eye could see. Hopeful, those running wild and desperate had caught her eye and they looked hopeful to see her. They were happy to see the Dragonborn and even so much so as relieved. There was no smile upon her lips then. Just a hard line as her long fingers grabbed the great axe to wield it for battle.

"Dragonborn!" an elf as dark as the flames that billowed into the sky screamed, cold and panic shaking him to the bone. "The dragon! It's destroyed the grey quarter and- and it's going for the palace!"

Dramatic was all that the Dovahkiin could think. Alduin was as dramatic as the day was long and it made her shake her head. Pushing past the scared elf, the woman wandered through the debris and found herself approaching the great steps where her eyes had fallen upon shouting guards and crying citizens. This terror made her heart rush and in this moment she finally felt the power that her destiny foretold. All she had done before was run around and do mindless tasks, right stupid wrongs, and nothing to show for it other than a few gold coins. It made her gut ache at the thought. Somewhere in time there were memories of mindless tasks being all that had kept her from starving...

Irregardless she was here now and here to take hold of her promised future.

"Talos be praised, Dragonborn, the beast has us trapped!" A curious raise of the brow followed by a curt turn of her head made for a most amusing stare as the Dovahkiin stared at a monster of a Nord. He was Ulfric's man, wore a bear pelt as a prize, and she couldn't help but to feel tired of him already. Old and foolish was all that she could say. So very old.

"Where is Ulfric?" The Dragonborn asked which had caused a mildly confused exasperation to erupt from his lips.

"Inside the palace? We have a dragon to worry about, not the Jarl!"

Her brows furrowed then and her voice raised at the ignoring of her question. "Bring Ulfric, now!"

In spite of the fear and fire Galmar tightened his fists as he muttered some words beneath his breath. The few guards that weren't currently worrying about the dragon stood and stared for but a moment. Her heart rushed and she felt almost hazy at the feeling of power. Gods, why hadn't she done this sooner?

Within moments both Galmar and the Jarl had come to the Dragonborn. More guards came pouring out of the palace in order to protect their mighty lord as he entertained the Dovahkiin. She was prim, however, and stood tall next to him as their eyes met. The last they had seen one another they were escaping Helgen. Curious how those events back then shaped the events of now.

"Ah, Dragonborn," the Jarl began smugly despite the current fire burning his city. "I trust there is a reason you are speaking to me and not slaying the dragon?"

"I have come to take your city." she replied just as calmly. He stared and so did she, he was unsure if he heard right but he smiled at the thought as if choking back a laugh.

"Take _my_ city? With what? You have nothing to take _my_ city with."

It was then that the Dragonborn laughed and it rang out like music. The Jarl and his guards stood and stared with a certain confusion as she laughed for a moment longer. "That is where you are wrong." the woman of fair, snow colored hair mused. "What I have _is_ currently taking your city."

Suddenly there was a feeling of power and as if their souls were already entwined, the great beast of black scales perched himself upon the palace. His weight was heavy and it caused the ice upon the palace to shake and fall to the ground, it shattered in different directions upon impact with the stone flooring. The vermilion eyes of Alduin stared down at the now speechless Jarl and his people as they stood scared. The Dovahkiin smiled and gripped her axe tighter.

"You can't possibly be serious?" Jarl Ulfric managed to spit out as Galmar pushed himself between him and the Dragonborn. "You were the hero of legends, you were promised to free us! Not kill women and children!"

Before the woman could reply there was a sudden fist in her face as Galmar saw fit to punish her for even threatening his Jarl. It cracked her nose and stars formed as she stumbled backwards, the blow all too quick and hard. And wet, it was warm and wet from blood. Overhead the sound of ice crashing to the ground rung out in her mind. He was a big man, his fist was even harder. Unexpectedly the woman fell to the ground, her axe tossed to her side, as the pain stretched itself further around her head.

But then there was a sharp feeling followed by a smell of blood and ash, and upon the dark winds a voice spoke to her.

 _"Do you remember what I told you, little cub?"_

The fire raged on and the sound of screaming echoed out against the dark night. Was it somebody else's blood or was it her own? The taste of rust was upon her lips yet she could not tell the difference. It was bitter, it made her tongue swell, and the more the saliva dripped about it become ever more present. Whose it was didn't really matter though, the voice inside of her head made her temples throb like drinking too cold of water too fast on a sun's height day.

 _"Do you remember what you vowed as my daughter, Nurnhilde?"_

It was then that the Dragonborn regained herself. Wobbly like a newborn foal but stubborn like a mule, the Dovahkiin rose back to her feet with a now bruising eye and a dripping nose. The blood stained her fur as her eyes burned like iron upon a forge.

"I was not asking for your city, I was demanding." the woman spat through bloody teeth. A deep laugh erupted from the black dragon then and like the ice shattering against the ground the raging pain on her face spread further and further with anger. She reached downward and grabbed her axe with cold fingers and lunged forward, hate fueling every piece of her. Galmar, enraged by the entire situation as well, had also thrust forward like a viper to prey. She was going to make him pay for that.

 _"Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar!"_

Black wings flashed past her and made for an icy burst of snow as the deep voice commanded like a god. Through the swirl of ice crystals the sound of a great, shrill cry could be heard followed by the ghastly sound of horrified gasps. Upon the ground all that was left of Galmar Stone-Fists was his weapon. The weapon that he had intended to strike her down with. Angrily she grabbed it, tossing her own to the side, and with the built up ferocity her eyes met the Jarls'.

"What say you? Your life or your city?"

For once Ulfric had no voice. He stood quiet and though desperate to put up a fight he lacked the actual ability to protest. He was stubborn though, stubborn like most nords. "If I surrender then Skryim will have no protection from the elves. You are a daughter of these lands, you cannot possibly let it fall to the Empire."

Then almost as if upon que the sound of yelling became louder and louder and with a sudden thud a spray of red marred the Dragonborn's already bloody face. Those in their presence were hushed into silence, aghast by the once living Galmar's body now flattened by the weight of gravity before them. Still furious by the lack of respect made the Dovahkiin look mad with the touch of red to her fair skin.

"Your city or your life?" she asked once more.

"I cannot leave Skyrim without a protector." he responded solemnly. The Dragonborn moved her eyes towards the closest guard and gave him the look of a mad witch.

"To the dungeons with him. Any defiance will result in this exact same end."

Nodding, the guard grabbed Ulfric and he began to lead him to the dungeons. The silence continued and Alduin above began to laugh once more. He was amused by his Dragonborn's ruthlessness and affirmed his decision in taking her as his. They were going to be a great pair, it was written in the shock and terror upon the faces of the armored men who were supposedly there to protect. Mortals were truly foolish indeed if they thought they could take down such a proud creature.

 _"Nust wo ni qiilaan fen kos duaan-_ Those who do not bow will be devoured." Alduin spoke with a calm, forceful tone.

"Bow or your souls are ours." The Dovahkiin added and slammed her brand new axe to the ground. The guards, unsure and turning to one another, shakily bent their knees. They were afraid and the terror suit her heart well. The golden eyes then fell to the mangled thing upon the ground before her and noted the bear pelt that hadn't been nearly as bloody as the rest of the mess. Quickly tearing it from the corpse her eyes looked it over and a sudden thistle-like sting marred her heart. Thoughts of the voice earlier made her think to her father. He liked bears, they reminded her of him.

Swallowing those thoughts hard she decided to sport her new trophy to her brand new servants.

" _Zu'u hin daan!_ Bow, mortals, I am Alduin! My time has come again."

Ruthless and indestructible, the two new rulers of Windhelm stood proud as the new day began to herald their victory. Nothing could take them down, nothing would, and all of Nirn was to be theirs as long as they stood together. The smell of the salt made the Dragonborn feel nauseous, however. She hated the ocean. Somewhere out in the fields of Riften a new twist of fate began. Little did he know the sudden change of fate twisted his and soon he would heed his calling.

It began with a fire too.


	3. II

**II. RIFTEN**

The Forgotten Hero

* * *

"You don't impress me. So don't even try."

There was a furrow of the brow as the annoyance set in. The Nord with eyes the color of verdant greenery stared tired and quite frankly unamused at the Redguard fence who glared at him with the same look of distaste. He hated Tonilia, she hated him, so the loathing was mutual and it provided a fair standing ground for the both of them. Gold was involved this time though, so they had to be relatively polite in order to make some kind of profit. So in spite of one another's abhor it made the interaction a little less painful but it still left a sour taste upon their tongues. He'd have blamed it on their current setting in the sewers but he had a feeling it was just this woman. She was worse than the pool of filth she stood in.

"Look, Tonilia, I don't care that you aren't impressed." the Nord male responded as he shoved the little doe-skin bag out in front of her. "I just want the gold."

There was a roll of her dark eyes as she crossed her arms, a look akin to a sarcastic child, which had then been followed by a shift of her hip for a proper stance at holding her ground. The Nord would have commented upon her chest size but there was a distinct lack of one. Something he then attributed to her bitterness but decided to think little upon that. He liked his woman looser, a little more Nordic, it made his tongue water at the thought. "I told you Nils, I'm not buying any costume jewelry." The Redguard spat once more with a biting threat. "So get it out of here or I will have you thrown out."

Angrily the man threw the bag down and it spilled it's guts upon the cold, wet floor and the lovely but poor quality jewelry had been scattered about. Off behind the two the rest of the Ragged Flagon stirred, their eyes upon the man and woman curiously now, and the those of the thieves guild kept an eye out for any trouble. Tonilia could hold her own though, she was always willing to tell everybody that, but if Nils were to have gotten violent they would have stepped in. Especially Vekel, who watched the honey-haired Nord closely with his own look of hate from behind the bar counter. Tonilia was his woman even if she had refused to settle down with him.

Nils brought a large hand to his brow then and rubbed at his temples, closing his eyes to soothe the ever growing annoyance. He could already smell the stench of the sewer on his leathers and it twisted his nose. He hated it down there, it reeked of something putrid, and thoughts of why he even came in the first place made his heart pump with a rush of anger in his blood. The smell of the ashes doused out the stench of rot though, the screaming and the fires that had ensued plagued him as his memories fluttered like moths to the candlelight of one particular thought. His camp had been destroyed and flashes of snow-white hair made the fires in his heart rage on. All of it down to the least important rat under his employment had been eradicated like a common skeever plight. All of it because of _her_.

"Aye, what's this?" he heard then as the Redguard reached outward towards his fingers. "You selling? Because I'm buying."

Quickly pulling his hand away, Nils opened his eyes to see what exactly she spoke of and had observed the simple ruby and gold ring. The Nord scowled and gave Tonilia a deeply annoyed grunt. How dare this wench ask him of his most prized possession. The absolute nerve.

"No, it's not for sale. I've already showed you what I've got so get your bloody hands off of me." Nils replied after shaking her away from him like a horse-tail whipped at flies. Tonilia stood defiant but shrugged her shoulders with an angry huff in response. They were like wolves fighting over bones, angry and fur standing on edge. A wicked smile curled her lips then, the anger turning into a cruel amusement as she went in for a bite.

"Then we're done here. I'd suggest you go home," Tonilia said while walking away from him, her eyes no longer meeting his as she turned to head to the bar. "but I heard the Dragonborn razed what little you had. Hah!"

Suddenly the anger tore at his heart like a beast tore at flesh. The Dragonborn, blast that stupid bitch, how dare she even be mentioned! Enraged, he bent down and snatched up his not-so-precious bag of jewelry and fought against himself not to throw it at the Redguard wench. Instead he held it in his hand and tightened to the point he heard the contents begin to crack under the pressure. How dare she even be named.

"True, but that's not the only thing I heard that she's destroyed." Another piped up then. Delvin, the Nord concluded quickly as he stared at the bald male, but whether or not the name was correct was unimportant. There were not many times he had found himself in the ratway and there were even fewer times that he had cared to know the rats that had called this place home. This garbage hole was only the safest place to be considering his prior arrangements and seeing as how he had little left in this neck of the woods, he figured he would try to make a few gold coins or two before moving on. A sorry state of affairs in the entire reality of things and that bit him worse than actually losing everything. It was terrible to lose it all but even terrible still to be in the aftermath of such events. That was the hardest part, to accept that it was gone.

"I heard that she's taken Windhelm." Delvin added as he took a sip of his drink. A dramatic pause, of course, it always had to be dramatic.

"Hah! Not even the Imperial army could take Windhelm." A fair-haired woman of Imperial descent jested with a look of disbelief. "I'd have stolen the Amulet of Kings before she'd have taken Windhelm!"

There was another bit of silence as the male took one more swig of his drink, savoring as the flavors danced upon his tongue. He looked a bit drunk but still sober enough to function so the reason for the dramatics was unknown. Maybe he idolized her? Maybe not. Either way this slow of a story was greatly unneeded. Nils had stood angry still though, furious that they'd still be talking about that piece of work. He himself disbelieved that she had taken a city alone. There was nothing left of his camp, sure, but she was still a woman like any other. Dragon soul or not.

"An interesting wager, Vex," He mused with rosy cheeks, his eyes delighted by the sight of his fairer companion who frowned with a sneer like glare. "but they say the Dragonborn had a dragon with her. A big black beast of a thing."

Again the silence took hold and the Ragged Flagon took a moment to reflect upon the woman they spoke of. She was capable of great things, yes, but she was still mortal. There was no possible way that she had taken an entire city, even _with_ a dragon.

"Those are just rumors, nobody has taken Windhelm because nobody can take Windhelm. Ulfric has that place well fortified." Vekel said with doubt as he wiped up a cup.

"You won't be saying that when she comes flying to Riften on that thing." Delvin responded with a slosh of his cup. "They say nowhere is safe!"

"Just let her try," Dirge had said as he put his fist to his palm. "I'll give her a few wounds to cry about, dragon or no dragon."

At this point Nils had chalked it up to nothing. This "dragon" they spoke of must have been an Argonian. Windhelm, was it not? That place was infested with the scaly bastards and it must have been a revolt of some kind. It's why he had personally hated that place so much, it stunk of elves and Argonian bastards who had no place among them. That sounded more like the Dragonborn that he heard stories of. Doing stupid, nice things for fools who couldn't even tie their left shoes. The very thought made the Nord male roll his shoulders to hide a shiver of disgust. He absolutely detested the Dragonborn for how sickeningly "good" she was.

A sigh escaped his lips then, he obviously had no more business here and decided to just leave. His fingers loosened around the little bag but unfortunately it was a little too late for the tiny pieces. He didn't feel bad but he felt a bit sickened that he'd now have to walk all the way to Markarth instead of catching a wagon like he had initially intended.

"Oh, what's this? Going so soon?" he heard then as he turned to leave. Tonilia had apparently felt that Nils was not fully roasted by the jest of his ruined camp.

"Not unless you want me to give you a good time?" Nils replied as he stood upright, his pride not knowing when it was better to just quit. "Because unlike Vekel, I am a _real_ man."

He then grabbed himself in a way that provoked Tonilia to stand aghast by his brutish behavior. Or at least Tonilia's stood out far more than the rest of the Ragged Flagon's expressions had, their disgusted expressions getting the better of them. They apparently did not find the crude grasping of his lower half to be nearly as funny as Nils had thought and in that moment his time there became even shorter. But irregardless of that the Nord had returned that wicked smile she had initially given him but was quickly put down by Dirge who had been itching for a fight at the mention of the Dragonborn and her "dragon". The punch was hard, it made him dizzy upon impact. Nils was a Nord though, they fought until Nils could fight no more.

"You're going to regret saying that!" Dirge spat as he went to swing at the honey-haired Nord once more while the Nord was standing himself back up.

"You don't have the guts!" Is what Nils replied with as he managed to dodge that swing despite being wobbly.

The rest of the Ragged Flagon watched the fight play out, all of them rooting for Dirge, but both of them had some aggression to vent out. Nils was a large man, not in height but weight. He was heavy and made for a hard punch and could take the punches that Dirge threw. They were aggressive, broke tables from falling and rolling around, and much to Vekel's disapproval he didn't say anything. What was said to Tonilia was absolutely atrocious.

But it wasn't long before luck favored one of them and the other began to tire. And then when he couldn't fight any more, due to taking one too many blows to the head, they tossed Nils out of the sewer like they tossed all the garbage out. It was safe to say that he was no longer welcome there, not that he really cared. It took a bit to drag the big sod through the sewer halls but he was out like a candlelight.

* * *

In the hours that had come and passed as he lay unconscious at the mouth of the sewer, a curious event had occurred.

There was a certain chill to the evening air as the world began to change. Whether the Dragonborn indeed had a dragon or not, whether Windhelm was indeed hers or perhaps that was untrue, there was a stir in the evening sky lights that fell upon him in his sleep. Usually there was no such thing as dreams to him, his nights were quick and fruitless. But in this he felt strange and perhaps even lost. There was a voice but a voice he did not recognize. Soft, the words were soft but perhaps a little scolding although he could not make out what was being said. The only thing he could fathom for this voice was mother. Or Mara, Mara felt a little more appropriate in spite of a strong, lack of faith in his life.

And in truth his weary soul felt better at the thought and for the first time since the loss of his innocence, he felt rested.

There was a sound of a fire crackling, it was comforting and reminded him of childhood. Nils had awoken somewhere soft and warm then, it was much different from the cold stone floor of the ratway. And it smelled like flowers, sweet and red mountain flowers that grew in the fields of Riften. As strong and lovely as the smells were, the agony in his head made him not think upon pungent aromas or thoughts of them too much. Which was fine, he was never much a man for thought anyway. It was easier to answer with a punch than it was to answer with clever words.

"You're awake?" a voice spoke to him as he stirred and felt better from the sweetness that had followed. This voice soothed him too but perhaps not as much as the one in his dreams.

"How long was I out?" Nils had managed to ask through a groggy, thick nordic accent. There was a feeling of cold water on his face that bit at the bruised flesh like black birds that had wanted to tear rotting flesh away from bones like the hungry, cruel beasts they were. He winced only slightly but managed to man up enough to sit up. He may have been a savage bandit chief with a lack of mercy at one point but considering the most recent of events, he kind of lacked the whole part that kind of made him a bandit chief. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Maybe this was his redemption for a life of being just overall shitty?

The green-eyed Nord had then opened his eyes enough to meet the gaze of eyes the color of ice. They were big and kind, they had reminded him of his childhood when he would stand on the dock in Dawnstar and stare out to the sea. For a moment he sat quiet and stared. This woman wasn't his usual taste but it didn't stop the feeling of wanting to reach out and take her.

"You were out for a few hours," she said then as she put the cold-water cloth to his cheeks once more. "I found you by the sewer gate, bloody and unconscious so I took you to the temple."

It was then that Nils' eyes averted from hers and had noticed his surroundings. Yes, he was in fact in the Temple of Mara and in some kind of back room by the looks of it. Above him had been drying flowers and off to the side the fire cracked. It made her eyes glow, her cheekbones stand out from beneath the fair blonde hair, and he gave her a quick smile as he noticed her fairly sized chest. Nobody but them had been insight, it made holding back a little hard.

"You took me here?" Nils asked as he looked to her frame. It was sturdy beneath her robes so yes, it was plausible that she had carried him here. It was made of thin cloth and it made him sweat. In truth there was only a few things in this life that he had like: loose women and taking things that weren't his. Being a bandit suited him well and he wasn't ashamed by it, not in the least. His father always told him to do the things that he was good at and love it. That's why his father was a hoarker-wrestler, he just liked to wrestle big things and take care of the great beasts. That's also how he ended up with the wife he had, divines bless her.

"Yes, I guess my strong Nord heritage can pay off at times, hm?" she replied with a light laugh. It sounded like wind through the trees and he wasn't sure if it was the blows to the head or not but it made him dizzy.

But in truth Nils was incredibly good at what he did. He was big, he was tough, and he could kind of read so it made him the best fit for being an appropriate leader. His men loved him and they listened. Whether it was because he was respected or they were afraid of his temper he wasn't sure but it made no difference. Some people saw his profession as despicable and sure, sometimes he had to kill people to get what he had wanted, but everybody has to get their hands dirty, right? It was just a matter of taking the good with the bad. But then the Dragonborn came and ruined that, stomped right through his camp killing everything she had seen.

Which was funny because they say that Nils was the one without mercy, the one without moral judgement, but if that was true then how was it that when some begged for mercy, she did not listen? She was no savior like they had praised her for, she was a killer just like him. So what was the difference between them? What made them enemies when they were the same?

But in this moment Nils was too tired to get overworked by that. There were many times he had found himself alone in his anger and many times his hate festered like maggots on flesh. The Nord had let it go, for the most part, and in the end just decided to get as far away from that as possible. There was nothing left to go back to and nothing left to mourn the way he had initially. Instead he looked to the lovely thing in front of him as she stared him in the eye.

"Listen, I have a bit of a sore spot down here." he began as he motioned to his lower half. The woman gave him a curious, almost devious, look and played along with him. Running her fingers along the side of his pants Nils could feel a sweet rush he hadn't felt in so long.

"Right here, you say?" she asked and had received a nod. A smile curled her lips but her fingers did all the talking. He hadn't actually taken anyone in a temple before, behind one but that wasn't the same. Out of all the women he had before this one felt a little more alluring. Maybe that's because he liked whores and he was still recovering from a pretty good beating but that wasn't really much of a thought. Instead they watched one another, her blue eyes like the sea at night, and he reached toward her to grab a lock of the long golden hair spilling past her shoulders.

"What's your name?" Nils asked softly. Or at least as softly as a brutish man can get. He wasn't a romantic, he lacked a certain cunning for that, so there was only a few way things like this went down.

"Vivia," she replied as she also got closer. "Vivia the Owl."

Thinking back to her eyes Nils had noted how large her they had been and just how appropriate that fit her. This much closer to one another he could smell the sweet scent of flowers upon her, it reminded him of the fields outside of the town during summer. He imagined her taking her there and then imagined _taking_ her there. Nils closed his eyes, the thought overwhelming, and felt her touch the ring to which he had quickly jerked back from. That ring was especially precious to him and anything touching it made him jump. Reopening his eyes they watched one another.

"I'm sorry," Vivia began and pulling away from him. "I didn't mea-"

"Shh, it's fine," the Nord said and pulling her on top of him. "Let me show you why they call me Nils Half-Troll and we will forget about that!"

Through a grin and a laugh Nils had begun to do what he had done best and this time it a was a thrill here and there was a thrill there, it made the ever growing night long and fun. A lot of the time Nils didn't care who he got it from just as long as he got it, albeit he liked them wild and free like Skyrim herself. Those were his favorite, it made him feel great as they knew what they were doing and he didn't need to do all too much. He wasn't a romantic, he was an opportunist and he was especially good at getting himself opportunities.

Through the night they began to tire though, the beating catching up with him. He fell asleep and unlike his unconsciousness earlier there were no voices and no dreams. It was odd but he didn't think much of what had happened then. Irregardless the morning came and so did the realization that he was alone, save for a note by his head.

And morning came with a hard slap, especially as he read what the contents of the little letter.

"Dear... Nils," he struggled, trying to read to the best of his limited abilities and the fact he was just waking. "I... have gone to... Markarth."

There was a pause as his eyes squinted and as his tongue tried to form what exactly the note was saying. Reading was definitely not his best, most appealing skill. He was cocky and prideful though, he'd have bet on himself out reading any scholar or mage and lost with his pig-headed dignity before admitting he wasn't good at it. Then had punched anybody who would have laughed or disagreed. He also liked to believe that he was charming but that was up to par with said reading skills.

"Come find... your ring." Nils finished then and as the thought settled in, his eyes lowered to his fingers.

Suddenly he noticed the lack of said jewelry and felt his heart sink, that was his most prized item and a big-eyed wench stole it.

Angrily jumping to his feet, a swell of blood in his chest and his fingers clenched the note, Nils swore like a mad man and thrashed about just as wildly. The fire had been long gone by now and he threw the flowers to the floor along with the pillows and blankets. After a few minutes of anger-spouted words and punching, Nils began to calm himself to take a moment to recollect. She had gone to Markarth, that's exactly where he was heading, so in the end it wasn't _that_ bad. But still, that was his ring and some bitch had stolen it. How dare she!

Having tired himself out the Nord sat himself on the bed with his face in his palms. This still wasn't as bad as the Dragonborn coming through and razing his camp, at least that's all he could say about this.

Irregardless he then looked to his clothes and hoped that they were still there. Thankfully yes but a fresh batch of anger burned within his soul and perhaps a bit of irony nipped at him like ice upon glass. Tucked beneath his clothes he recognized the doe-skin pouch and felt himself resent ever coming to Riften in the first place. He hated it here and had hoped that it would burn, at least then this plight upon Skyrim wouldn't be taking anybody else for a fool. Or rather it would be the last time it took him for a fool.

And in truth yes, Riften would burn. Riften would burn and so would the rest of Skyrim.

In Windhelm, after they stopped relishing their sole victory, Alduin and the Dovahkiin were getting ready to take the rest of what was theirs. They felt powerful, something neither had not ever fully felt before, and they were on the high that had taken them there. Which was a stark contrast to the low that Nils was currently in.

But the world would burn before Nils was to reach the high that his unknown enemy currently possessed.


	4. III

**III. WINDHELM**

Dovahkiin & Alduin

* * *

Divines take her and cast her down, her face _hurt_.

The Dragonborn found herself in front of a mirror, eyes gold and glittering with a certain bitter contempt as she stared at the dark circle beneath her eye. It was going yellow at this point, the days since the blow having long since come and gone, and now the shape of her nose was crooked from the punch that had struck her down like a dog to it's master. Somewhere inside of her she would have joked that Galmar Stone-Fist had suit his name but there wasn't really anything funny about the situation, especially considering that her nose was now crooked. Well, unless of course you wanted to say that the taking of Windhelm was the punchline but there was still a bitterness to the whole thing.

Irregardless the woman of fair snow-shaded hair glowered at herself in front of the mirror and found herself disappointed that she had been taken off guard like that. Maybe she deserved this for being careless. Maybe this once lovely and now misshapen nose of hers was her due for taking a whole city. There was a light shudder at the thought then; she wanted cities, of course, but if she were to lose anymore limbs or get some bent then she'd have to get smarter about this whole conquest situation. She thought about that voice though, thought about what it would have told her as if it were there with her.

" _You got what you put out there, little cub,_ " is what her father would have said. " _be good and life will be good to you too._ "

But where was all that goodness when she was hungry and her father wasn't there? Where was it when nobody had known his name and he had begged for even the most minuscule of jobs? And where was that goodness when he never came home that day, or the next? You couldn't live off of nothing and you certainly couldn't eat the feeling of doing right. The Dragonborn felt her stomach tighten up like knots in silk scarves, the thought of that day haunting her. Hard choices lead to a hard lifestyle. She would make those hard choices over and over again just as long as she didn't have to feel the sourness of ever going hungry again. Ever.

The Dragonborn hated her nose, of course, but she was to wear it with pride when she would walk down her streets. Those who saw her would know that she had paid her dues and that she was allowed this power that had come to her. Thoughts of her father and being hungry made the Dovahkiin suck up the pain, push away from the mirror and bitterly turn away from the reflection that bit back at her. This was who she was now, something bigger and better than that starving little girl who thought goodness was all that there was in a world so cruel. And they would all see it, every single one of them who wanted to try and take this greatness away from her.

Standing along in the room that had once belonged to Ulfric made her heart rush and thoughts of those times dissipate. The Dragonborn closed her eyes, the silence and the crackle of the fire rushing over her and calming her like a mother would calm an angry child. Breathing in deeply and the smell of ash lingered in the air still as it expanded in her lungs, some of the fires from Alduin's work still burning within the rubble that he had left behind. Her mind went to the World-Eater then, her eyes fixated upon the fire before her as she let her mind wander to the image of the great black dragon. _Her_ great black dragon.

There had never been a more proud moment than having took Windhelm at his side. How funny it was considering she had spent all of those months chasing after him trying to undo his power. It had led her to places that she had never even dreamed of seeing, led to her people she had never even dreamed of meeting. But that same feeling of childish ignorance was the same associated with her father. At the very thought the woman's hands tightened. Never again would that happen, never again was she to be stupid or hungry.

Suddenly the sound of the earth quaking and the sky shuddering drew the Dragonborn from her thoughts, eyes up like a doe in the wild having heard a hunter.

" _DOVAHKIIN!_ "

Voices, that's all they had was their voices. The Grey Beards called her and that's all they had done since discovering their masters death. They were angry with her but they were no men to fear, they would only rot and fester upon the mountain like putrefied wounds. The Dragonborn's hands clenched harder and her brow furled as she had turned away from the fire, her feet carrying her towards the tiny little window where the light of day spilled in like blood spilled through cut skin. "Come fight me if you are so mad!"The Dovahkiin shouted at the top of her lungs, angry and knowing full well they could not hear her. "Fight me if you are so wrathful and sore that I killed your master!"

There was lots of rage in her heart that had finally began to find it's peace, even if just a little. The coldness nipped at her cheeks, the breath of cold air stinging at her hurting nose, as she stared at the mountain that had slowly overtime become an eyesore. She had promised herself that when she was done with Skyrim and the taking of Nirn, that mountain would be whittled down until it was nothing more than a sick memory. Even if she had to do it herself that mountain would be gone, erased from time itself.

Suddenly a knock at the door had caused the Dragonborn to turn wildly towards the sound and like a dog barking at unwelcome guests she shouted for the visitor to come in. Before her stood the Steward Jorleif, his eyes with the same hate she bore, and as they stared at one another he cleared his throat to begin. "The guards have rounded up the remainder of the citizens as per your request," the Steward said while giving her an almost distinct hatred, the words seethed from him spitefully so. "They are in the main hall awaiting you."

"I'll be there shortly now begone." she answered while waving her hand in the air, annoyance seeping off of her like water trickled from melting ice.

Jorleif did not speak, had no answer other than shutting the door behind him. As soon as she could she would replace him. He reminded her of that mountain that she was to decimate once all of this was over and there was absolutely no way she would continue to put up with him as long as she had been here. She was to be damned by Akatosh himself before she was to take on that sort of attitude any longer.

But quickly throwing those feelings to the wind the Dragonborn stomped her way towards the door. With each heavy step and deep breath that followed, the air cracking against her lungs, she quickly gathered herself before facing her charges. This anger beholden to her heart clouded her judgement, that she was well aware of, and truthfully this moping around business did no one good. Thoughts of Alduin calmed her soul and made her fingers twitch from the release of her fists. Dear Alduin, how truly blessed she was to have been born as the Dragonborn.

It made her heart wretch with delight that she had a dragon.

The narrow, almost steep hallways of the poorly designed keep made her feel too closed in. Snaking her way through the cold stone she found herself longing for the freedom that came with coming and going. She had hoped that with one of the other castles she would get it had a much better design than this one did. Atmora, they had said, it was designed as if they were in Atmora. But she jokingly bemused herself with the thought of why they had come to Tamriel. If all the buildings back in the homelands were this terrible, it was no wonder they all left.

Then she was there, in the hall of the once great Jarl Ulfric where the plots of once-important Stormcloaks took place. And there they all stood, some wide eyed and scared while others stared at her with contempt. The Dovahkiin flashed them all a smile and the angry ones of the lot sneered. Her heart raced, it felt good to be so bad.

"How kind of you to join us," she said while having wandered to the handful that were the only living souls of her city. "I take it you know why you are all here?"

Those who looked frightened appeared to have lost their tongues, gone white from different thoughts of why they had been rounded up. There was a moment of thought before a quick squeak had been thrown to her feet. "To kill us?"

"To kill you? Hah! If I kill you then what point was there to taking the city?" the woman laughed and it hit them all like a slap in the face. They were like ghosts now, even the dark-skinned elf who had initially greeted her when she had come to the city. The dark of his eyes made his cheeks look thin and for a moment she had remembered the hope that had once been there. There was pain now, only pain and terror and what appeared to be some dried blood. The Dovahkiin moved her eyes from that one and she stared at an unruly Nord who stood out from the rest. He was bald and smelled like a tavern full of sailors and fish wenches, older but none the wiser in appearance.

"No, I will not kill you," she said quietly after a moment of eye-contact with the Nordic man who stared fiercely and defiantly. "your gold will prevent me from doing just that."

There was a soft gasp from one of the townsfolk as the words struck them all once more. This terror that they had possessed made her heart sing like a wolf howling at the moon. All of this felt right and though the moments of doubt struck her like a blow to the back of the knee, this is what made it all feel perfect. Turning quickly to one of the guards the Dovahkiin found herself beckoning him over to which he aptly obeyed. A feeling of dread could be felt from him and the woman seized her moment like a viper dove at it's pray. Turning her back to her people, arms around her crossed over her chest, she began to order him to do her bidding. Unfortunately not a wise move to turn your back to your enemies.

She spoke soft words, they were soft but held weight, and sadly the words drowned out the sound of footsteps. "Gather their gold and bring it to-"

And suddenly the wind had been knocked out of her with a fierce punch akin to Galmar's, like as if she had fallen into dark, icy water by accident. There was a blow to the back of her lungs that left her gasping and writhing for air, her eyes watering and ugly beneath the fur of her proud bear pelt. Somewhere behind her more gasps could be heard and the stomping of feet ushered in a panicked struggle for precious air. Gods, why were they always gasping? If she hadn't have been in pain on the floor she'd have given them a reason to be afraid and always damn gasping. But alas, the lack of breathing made the moment stretch on like the moments before an execution.

Her guards did not help her though, merely stunned or perhaps wanting this justice, as the attacker took to his feet to ripped her from the floor. Through the water in her eyes she spied the grizzled nordic man and quickly he held her by the fur of her armor. Her lungs burned, the watering spilled from the corners of her eyes, and though struggling against his grip her fingers fished for any kind of weapon. "You Dragonborn bitch," he yelled in her face and the spit mixing with the salt tears. "I will crush your skull!"

The gold of her eyes widened as he let go of one of her leather straps and wound up a fist, anger readying him to in fact crush her skull with one blow after another. Words struggled against her mind, lungs still burning but healing, they ignited in pain but grew with gasps of badly needed air. No, she was not to die here. She would die gloriously like a Dragonborn was to die. In fire and flame upon a mountain, not crying and writhing for air like a fish plucked out of water.

She was the Dragonborn, she was the Dovahkiin, the thoughts hit her harder than any fist to the lung had. And with a force unknown to her she felt a rush of anger, tongue swelling and air pumping through her body. Absolutely not, he was not worthy to take her life as she was the Dragonborn!

" _Fusrodah!_ "

The air from her lungs was a force that he was not expecting. He let her go and she fell to the floor, stumbled but finding her own anger as she had done so. Upon her knees but gaining strength she forced herself up and grabbed her axe, the feeling a welcoming thing through the next hungering for air. Alduin was not here to steal this one, this was hers and she was to savor it. By the Divines she was to make this stretch on.

And unsure of what to make of the sudden impact of funneled air he did not see her walk towards him with her air in hand. It was too late for that, he didn't see the first strike come down like the executioner making a murder pay for his crimes.

"I am the Dragonborn!" she yelled, the sound of her ferocity echoing off of the stone walls. "You will submit to me!"

Wild, lovely and wild but savage. Blood stained the white of her hair as one heavy axe cleaved after the other. Through the steel of his armor she hacked and her people watched with a terrified stare that made the Dragonborn feel even more on edge. Whether he was still screaming in pain mattered little to her, it was drowned out by the force of her axe and her blood pumping through her veins. To what end did she know? None, there was no ending when madness set itself in.

And yes, he did submit after about nine different hacks to the chest.

She kicked the body over and turned to the guards who did not help her in her time of need, eyes with that wild look once more. She would have made an example of one of them in time but it would have seemed that divine intervention made for a better turn of events. Lucky them, they were lucky that she didn't turn around and deliver the same fate to them.

"Gather their gold and put it in the treasury," she spat with a heavy heave of her aching of her own chest. "and make sure you get it all. Ulfric had a sorry state of affairs and I am sure these people do not want to pay for the Jarl's crimes."

A familiar sound of footsteps upon the roof came with a heavy fall that made dust fall from the ceiling. A soft whimper and crying could be heard from the small group of onlookers and though still blood and tired from her fight, the Dragonborn turned to her people and gave them a shake of her head. They were silly but they were hers. She may have killed people but she was not abusive. Death to the Dragonborn was a swift thing, torture was a cowards way of going about the inevitable and she was no coward.

"Nobody will be fed to the World-Eater, you have my word." she responded while giving them yet another shake of her head, the white of her hair fluttering about. "Besides, you are all much too skinny. Sifnar will be sure to feed you tonight or he will be the one being fed to the dragon."

They were still crying but the Dragonborn didn't care to think about that much longer. The Guards did as they were told and began to get the precious coins from the crying folk who prayed for a proper savior. Unsure if it was the terror or presence of Alduin, the woman's heart rushed as her blood continued to pump through her veins. Alduin was here after having left her for the night, the happiness welled and it felt wonderful.

" _Dovahkiin!_ " she had heard once more, the voice belonging to the black dragon. Knowing when she was needed, she left the crying crowd with a wicked smile curling her lips and within moments she had passed through the door of the palace to greet her companion. Feet padding through the snow upon the ground, eyes upward toward the ice covered roof, the adrenaline of death made the Dragonborn feel like shouting at the top of her recovering lungs. The area of her back hurt still but she could ignore the pain for the World-Eater.

"Dear World-Eater," she said with a coo-like softness. "did you find what you were looking for?"

Alduin peered down to the Dragonborn with a inquisitive look. He spied the blood in her hair. " _Geh-_ _Dii sahrot alok!"_ he said with a proud shout _. "_ My army will rise and we will be mighty. But blood- _Joor rahgron_? _Boziik._ "

What he had been saying, she had no idea. But she looked down from the dragon, heart somehow feeling more rested and her back hurting less, his presence was welcomed even if they were still unsure of one another. To think that she had been comforted by the legendary World-Eater. The smile lingered, her World-Eater.

But then her eyes twisted upward toward the rubble that had been left behind from their destruction. It was vast and wide and still smoldering, the smoke still pouring into the sky to ward off any wanders who come in search of Windhelm and it's no longer existing residences. From where she stood there were a few singed bodies still not gathered by the priests. They would be left there to rot and picked at by hungry birds before the priests would be wise enough to come get them.

"The last of the residence have been summoned for the gold. There was a fight but it was quickly put down." she responded after a moment of the two looking onward. Somewhere out there she was sure somebody was crying but she had hardened her heart to that thought. Foolishness if tears were to be shed for ashes and rubble.

" _Rinik prodah_ \- Well done. In time they will submit, they always do." Alduin commented. Again she stared, unsure of his words, and she turned once more to stare up at him like a child stared at their parent. He returned her eye and it was a look of question. "Right, you do not speak our tongue. _Paaz_. We will have to correct that mistake when we return from Markarth."

The Dovahkiin found herself full of many questions but decided to ask the more pressing one. "Markarth? Why would we go from Windhelm to Markarth? Would that not give way to a revolt?"

Alduin took to the sky, the ice crashing to the ground once more, and though he wished the disrespectful mortal to not talk back to him, Alduin only laughed as he took her within his great talons. This time much more prepared for it the woman felt the rush of air and the feeling of pain where the man had punched her in the lungs. As uncomfortable as that was, it still had nothing on her currently aching nose and facial area.

But through the pain she had seen the great scaled beast of white scales coming from the area in which appeared to be towards the west. Behind it followed a dragon of bronze, both equally as terrifying as the next.

" _Viinrofel, Fiikrelov,_ " Alduin shouted and the Dovahkiin only watched. "- guardians of Windhelm. _Nothing_ will revolt."

Perhaps there was nothing to fear. Having slaughtered a man in her hall and now two dragons to keep watch- was there really anything to doubt? It was in this moment the Dragonborn truly felt safe, safer than she had ever felt before and the irony being her within the claws of a massive scaled beast and the foretold bringer of end times. It was in this moment the feeling of safety made her feel stronger, prouder.

And maybe even a true bit of admiration for a creature made of death.


	5. IV

**IV. MARKARTH**

Dovahkiin & Alduin

* * *

I just wanted to thank everybody for their support of this story. I've quite enjoyed writing for this but it makes it all the better having such wonderful folk enjoying the ride too! I'll be fixing things up every five chapters by correcting mistakes and rewriting sentences. I will get to that shortly so I ask you to excuse any current mistakes. They look a little funny, I know, so I will get to them as soon as possible.

Once again thank you so much, you have all been absolutely wonderful.

* * *

There was that feeling, it welled between two lungs and pounded like the sound of war drums against the fleshy walls of her chest. Heavy, it was heavy and the feeling of coldness nipped at her bruised cheek and aching back as if she were caught in a winter storm. Is this what pride truly felt like? The feeling of cold blood and a rush of air? There was the sound of screaming and it made the blood pump harder, quicker as if she were a frenzied animal with the sweet red rust upon the tongue. This time she would be sterner, quicker, and less foolish than to let her guard down.

The flurry of wind made the Dragonborn close her eyes as the World-Eater released her upon the steps of the great stone city. She fell only a short distance but the landing was hard, it made her wince but only for a second as she regained her ravenous form. There were eyes among the screaming and she could feel herself longing to begin the taking of the city. It was more fun when the silence strangled them, it made them quiet like mice who trembled before a cat. Oh, how she _loved_ cats.

"Bring me the Jarl," she commanded this time, her voice strong against the sound of crying. "and I would suggest you do so fast!"

The two guards who had just finished running to see the great sight of black wings made no hesitation to run back towards the great Keep. A smile crept upon her lips, eyes golden and bright, and behind her the Dragon began to decimate the great city. Her heart rushed and the woman stared up towards the architectural wonder. This great castle before her was truly a marvel and it made the Palace of Kings look like a hovel. She absolutely detested that building in comparison, Gods damn Atmora, and it only made her want this city that much more. She needed it like maggots hungered for flesh.

There was a sound of rocks falling that then took the Dragonborn out of her thoughts. She turned and her eyes honed in upon Alduin who had began to decimate the great tower that was soon-to-be the Temple of Dibella. He tore at it between burning, the sound of innocent souls beneath fearing being crushed underneath the debris that had fallen. He was a mighty beast that destroyed all that stood before him. Pride made her grin wildly and beneath her fur her heart pounded for him.

"Does this please you, father?" Alduin shouted to the sky with a terrifying bellow, he was mad with power at the destruction of holy grounds. "Am I not yours to be proud over?"

Some of the wounded rock landed in the running waters below and the Dragonborn found herself pleased by his actions. Pious was never a word she knew, resented it truly, so there were no tears shed for the loss of priests and their homes. A slight bit of anger cut at her heart then; the Gods were never there for her so why should she do their bidding? It was then that Alduin tore the greater half of the Temple down, ate at the priestesses that cried and ran away, and then there it was, that feeling again. The sound of the waterfalls made her blood pump and her heart rise.

Not even the Gods could stand up to them now and it was cemented in their hearts as the great Temple crumbled like dust.

"What is this!" the sound of words made her snap around, eyes darker now as they met a troupe of people who stood weapons-drawn but dumbfounded with rage. They proved to be much better at standing their ground than Ulfric had, for he was foolish and prideful to meet her with so few. Jarl Igmund was clearly no fool however, not by a long shot. "Markarth has never fallen," Igmund shouted from on top of the stairs and the words were carried with the rushing sound of the waterfall at her side. "she will not fall today!"

Great talons landed upon the cold stone then, daylight reflecting through the heavy form of dust clouds that erupted, and almost instantly the words were eaten as the stares of mortal men met that of a dragon. The Jarl and his men were quiet, they were mice before the great beast, and they cowered with a straight spine beneath the stone overhang. That pride nearly strangled the Dragonborn and her smile barred her own teeth, something wicked in her heart was brewing.

" _Faraan kron,_ " Alduin shouted to all the gods, to Akatosh, to Aetherius and all the mortals who could hear. "I am _Alduin_ , lord and mighty! I will rule over all and take your city!"

Markarth, the city built by dwarves, lost to savages in the Great War and taken back, was now here to be conquered by a woman and her dragon.

"Will you submit or die?" The Dragonborn asked then, words proud and stiff like ice in dark water. Only a few met her eye for they were terrified of the match that had burned over half of their city staring straight at them. She could feel Alduin at her side stare intently back, both eyes glittering like jewels. The great mass that was the black beast shaded her, the feeling of his body was welcoming beneath the massive shadow.

"If you so badly want her then take her from me, Dragonborn!" The Jarl yelled with such ferocity that even the World-Eater himself shifted to position his body properly between the Jarl and the Dovahkiin. The Jarl was Nordic to the bone beneath the guise of embellished robes and jewel-encrusted circlets, something that was so easily forgotten considering. There was a ferocity in his eyes that made the woman stare just as wildly though, heart and chest aflame as he pushed through his guards. What little attempt there was to stop the man made no real difference.

"No, Igmund!" the Redguard woman at his side roared as she jumped to her Jarl's defense irregardless of dragons and other such matters. "It's too dangerous!"

But he was a Nord, he would fight his battles and either win or die protecting his beliefs. It was almost romantic and perhaps even commendable but it was all merely laughed at in the face; he was a supporter of the Imperial Legion and whatever false pride he had was hardly a thing to respect. The Dragonborn refused to partake in such matters of war but there was no nobility in having your land stolen from you and siding with the thief who took it. The Dragonborn's fingers tensed around her axe, it was revolting to even think about and he shouted once more, her stomach knotted and he rose to meet her. _"_ I will not surrender Markarth without raising my own sword in her defense!"

Those who stood about watched as the woman dressed in the remains of a bear firmly grabbed her axe and accepted the fight. The Jarl, readying his own sword and shield, made her heart pump with a certain rising aggression. Lips still curled into a smile, they both left the safety of their protectors and met evenly before one another at the landing of the stairs. The sound of water rushing against the stone and rocks made for a cool breeze in the stillness. "You will die, Igmund!" the Redguard shouted once more, there was a level of sadness to her distress. "Please, don't do this!"

But he ignored her as the two began their duel.

"You should listen to her, you fool." The Dragonborn spat with a viperous sting, her golden eyes matching his like a hawk to a rodent. "You will die and I will feed your guts to the World-Eater!"

Behind her Alduin turned his massive head to get a better look at his promised morsel. Igmund circled around her though and ignored the threat as their eyes were careful, cautious even, to mind the narrow steps that were the sidewalks of Markarth. Any wrong step could have resulted in a premature death of water and broken bones, a dangerous if not curious note should the fight have come down to it. The smell of ash lingered and the woman and Jarl were on edge, literally.

The Dragonborn lunged then, axe above her head and clashing down hard against the Jarl's shield. Through grunts he repelled and managed to fend her off just long enough the swipe at her with his own weapon. Those above stood and watched as the blade only grazed at her revealed flesh and though it caused a minor sting the woman was in no way reeling from the pain. It only made her laugh, the sound of her voice shrill, the blood made her hazy in thought.

But as much as she wanted this to go on, she wanted the city more.

" _Yol...toorshul!_ "

Breath like a dragon's and chest aflame, the furl of fire engulfed the Jarl who hid behind his shield. Caught off guard the screams were quickly doused out by the ever growing fire as he roasted alive. He chose death and she gave it to him, the sound of the screaming Redguard making her shout stronger as he continued to roast. "Igmund!" the woman yelled from on top of the stone stairs. "No! You Dragonborn bitch, no!"

The tears she wept were bitter and within moments the Dragonborn's firebreath and Igmund both had died out. She ripped her embedded axe from the shield of the dead Jarl and once again returned the eye of those who stood like statues, breathless and shocked. The smell of burnt flesh trailed with the running water and she gave them a curt smile, eyes golden and beautiful against the dark of her bruised eye.

"I do believe that Markarth is mine. Any of those who object will die just the same."

But they were defiant, they lost Markarth once and they were not about to lose it again, dragon or not. The Redguard through her tears stood out before the rest and rose her shield and sword. The sight of Jarl Igmund's burnt body made her strong, it made her heart thump against her steel and iron.

"To Oblivion with you! You will have to pry us out one by one before we subject to you!"

And that was a promise, clearly so because most had all then turned to run back to the well-fortified stone keep that had been built directly into the mountain. They were clearly not as stupid nor as easy as Windhelm and those few guards left behind then drew their own weapons, the blades glinting through the light like stars at night. With that they began to march towards the dragon and his mortal, the Dragonborn pulling back to the safety of the World-Eater.

" _Him hinde pah liiv!"_ Alduin hissed as the Dragonborn put away her axe with a hurried action, free fingers reaching out towards the black scales after a moment. " _Zu'u hin daan!_ "

But there was something different this time. It was unlike Alduin to become so tense, she could feel it in her heart and beneath her fingertips. There was something else wrong other than the fact that attempting to conquer Markarth had gone awry, something much worse. But irregardless of asking questions the Dragonborn had done something she never thought to do: she mounted the World-Eater.

Quickly seizing her opportunity she gripped the World-Eater's horns and found herself pulling her weight upward as he reared up like a spooked horse. Finding a comfortable spot upon his neck she stared down towards those who came at them with weapons, eyes lit up with a golden, seething hate. "Then so be it!" The Dragonborn shouted with a ferocious roar as Alduin lifted himself up with a great gust of his wings, ash was dust puffing up with great windy gusts. "We can just pick the maggots from Markarth's corpse! We don't need any of you for the silver that runs through her blood!"

The didn't quite leave, however. There was something amiss and it was in the air, her heart just now realizing this and her eyes began to search around the burning city. Just like Alduin her soul stood on edge. There was something here and neither could see where it was, it made both tense as they fell upon the Temple of Talos.

" _Vonun vahdin, nikriin!_ " Alduin continued to shout like a wild beast. "Where are you, _coward_!"

Suddenly he began thrashing about upon the temple and once again began to tear at the home of the Divines. The Dragonborn stared from atop of the savage creature as he wildly sought something out, her eyes large and unsure of what exactly was going on. "Alduin, we must leave!" she said while trying to soothe him, voice like wind through grass. "They will starve themselves out, I promise you. But _please_!"

Still enraged the great black beast shouted more words to the Gods that she could not understand. Something had scared him, these were the manners of an animal frightened, and to whatever end she did not know. Thankfully however it took only minutes to destroy the last remaining temple and through smoke and fire the two took to the skies, the great mass of ebony scales flying towards the light. Markarth was a strong city built by strong people but it would fall. They would crush their souls, their dreams, everything far and in between. Everything had a crumbling point, that she knew.

And though the two didn't wish to admit it, they too had a breaking point and it was within the heart of that city.


	6. V

**V. MARKARTH**

The Forgotten Hero

* * *

The journey was, for the lack of a better word, a bitch.

True it didn't take too terribly long but the whole way there Nils cursed it. Cursed the Dragonborn, cursed that Vivia bitch, most of all cursed himself for deciding that Markarth was an acceptable place to put his stash. It's not that he had trust issues, Gods knew that wasn't the case because who needed trust when you had a good fist to beat some sense into the bastard, right? Not that it made the fact he had to travel across Skyrim to get to Markarth any better but still. After what had seemed like an eternity, he was just on the outskirts of the shithole, finally feeling some sense of relief. He hadn't known that word since, well, the dragons showed up and he was ready for what little he could scrounge up.

But as his feet fell upon each hard stone, kicked dust into the air, there was a feeling inside of him that signified a coming storm. He couldn't place it very well but it reminded him of the day _she_ came into the camp. The feeling reminded him of looking down a dark hole for it was cold and bottomless at the pit of his stomach. It made a hard lump form at the back of his throat the more he thought about it. There was something else that drew his mind somewhere, eyes lifting upward to catch the sound as he struggled to swallow. It felt- no, sounded more like... birds. Birds?

And there it was, that feeling of _"is that my city on fire?"_ followed by _"was that a dragon?"_.

Nils stood at the foot of the bridge and watched as the great black beast flew overhead, the sound of screams echoing off the rolling mountains of Markarth somewhere far away in the distance. Green eyes stared out, mouth slightly agape, and beneath his furs his chest ached as he noted the pale thing upon it's neck. Thoughts of those fools at the Thieves Guild made Nils clench his fists, the bitter thought of them being right sinking in like an arrow through the chest. There was absolutely no way that could of been the Dragonborn, it was just a coincidence. It couldn't have been her and he had to reassure himself that it wasn't.

There was a smell of burnt flesh upon the wind and it bit at his nose like a poison snake in the grass. A twist of his features knotted the weathered skin and as the great beast flew towards the west he found himself turning back to the city. True he never liked to think too much into things but he concluded that this city was damned, what with the great billows of smoke pluming towards the great vast blue overhead. Which, in the reality of things, meant that he was damned yet again. Something that bit harder than the smell of pungent death on the wind.

With that thought the Nord gave a dark grimace as he marched his way towards what he assumed was the leftovers of Markarth. Minutes past, footsteps left imprints in the dirt, and the moment his hands fell upon the wood of the door a fresh wave of ash and burnt flesh hit him in the face as he opened the city. Before him large chunks of debris littered the place and the sounds of cries were louder, harder and more painful. Overhead he recalled a great tower being there but there was nothing but jagged rock and blue sky now. The Nord gave a twist of his head as his thoughts fell to the black scaled beast. Beside him people cried, their fingers effortlessly struggling to move rocks as his eyes fell to blood splatter and body parts. They were hopeless, this whole city was hopeless.

He continued his way up the broken path though, brows knotting together like tangled roots as he pushed passed a sobbing mother. _"Hmph."_

There were a lot of people scattered around, in truth. There were guards here and some were there, they were too busy to notice him as he ghosted through the destroyed streets. The Nord was careful to dodge partial remains and large, jagged rocks. As he passed them he had decreed that it his own clothes were meant for his own kills meaning not just any blood would suffice. He was particular like that, had to wear his pride otherwise there wasn't anything to be proud over. Irregardless Nils continued forward to get to his destination so he could get out of Skyrim before anything else unfortunate could happen to him. Where he would go next, he didn't care really. He just really, really needed to get out of the damned place.

But as his foot hit the first step something was different in the air. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his eyes raise upward. Above him, somewhere hanging over one of the ledges, he could feel eyes watching him. From where he stood there were none whose gaze fell upon him but the Nord could feel it. Again his features twisted, a scowl forming the brows together, and in an instant he shrugged the feeling from his shoulders. Whoever it was probably wasn't even worth the trouble.

With each step upward he could see the devastation clearer. In some ways it did remind him of his camp and it left a taste in his mouth akin to sour milk. Coming closer to what used to be the great tower now stripped down to the inner contents of the Temple of Dibella, Nils noted the desolation the beast made. From a bird's eye view he noted the people in the streets and wondered how exactly they were to recover from this. It was just a passing thought really, he didn't actually care.

Irregardless he passed onward and continued his momentary climb. Vlindrel Hall was his destination, it held the remainder of his glory days and as soon as he attained it he was going to be hitting the road. Fuck the Dragons, fuck the Dragonborn, he was going to start anew. Somewhere warmer, somewhere a little more interesting. Terrorizing the folk in Highrock seemed like it would be a good idea. Rich merchants, wealthy daughters to steal and ransom, what was there not to like? The closer he got to the door with the key in hand he felt a little more antsy to get out of the wretched place he had called home for so long. He doubted he would ever return to Skyrim, he had his fair share since birth.

And just like that the sound and smell of death was replaced by silence and dust. Opening the creaking door with a firm hand it reminded him of the first time he had attained this place. Took it from a dead noble he had killed, he had lots of keys and none were as important as Vlindrel Hall. That had been a long time ago and Nils had always kept it a secret from his men, just in case of situations like these. He lost a lot of things that day but that's why he was their leader, he was smart enough to have a back up plan. Nils was a lot of things, stupid even, but he was clever enough to keep himself afloat when he could. Even if the blasted place was on the other side of where he intended.

The mountain side home smelled just like he had left it and he was eager to collect what he could and get out before anything could stop him. Before him the noble's remaining items were scattered about, just the way it was left before he found himself dead, and there was a thick layer of dust caking what was out in the open. The room reminded him of stale bread and as he moved to the private room he found himself reaching for a soft pouch. Down on his luck would be his title no more, he was clever and quick and smart for doing this. That would teach them, those who laughed!

"Funny seeing you here, hm?" a voice spoke then, it left a wound to his pride the moment he heard it. "Fate or chance at the timing, I wonder?"

Behind him stood a familiar face and a deep scowl twisted his own. Big blue eyes, dressed in dark leathers as opposed to the tight dress. Vivia the Owl in all her glory played with the little ring between her thieving fingers as Nils stood dumbfounded but angrily so. The Nord wondered how she got there but ultimately didn't give it too much thought. There was a curious look upon her face and he found himself getting angrier by the second.

"You bitch," he said as he quickly forgot the treasures behind him in favor of facing her up close. "that's my ring. Give it back or I'll rip your throat out."

Vivia gave a light shake of her head as she brought one arm across her chest as the other with the ring turned to a fist. The woman found herself shaking her head at him as he grew increasingly annoyed with the intruder of his rightfully stolen property. "I would suggest dropping the attitude. I have no intention in keeping your ring, I just needed you here."

With his face to hers, eye to eye and both standing defiantly, Vivia reached forward and held the ring out to him. In that moment he felt a slight bit of relief but found that anger was still very much his. He snatched it from her like a hungry dog stole meat and after a brief moment of checking it over, he returned his eye to hers and found that she was standing with a curious glint in her eyes. It reminded him of something he had seen before, something like a priest but he couldn't quite place it. A second passed and he turned to continue collecting his items.

"Listen, I'm sure you've seen it out there," the girl began after a brief moment of gold-rattling silence filled the stale air. "It's a wreck and those people need help."

"Then help them." he responded quickly without turning around. He really didn't care, he just wanted out before it got worse.

"I intend to, I just need _your_ help."

There was a light scoff that followed her words and for the first time since everything he found himself smiling. A shake of the head caused the dirty blonde hair to flutter about and he could feel her eyes upon him like a bird watched prey. Except he didn't feel threatened, not by her. Instead he shrugged her off and the thought of him helping those pathetic people amused him to no end. In this world the strong thrived, not the weak. This was the kind of world that did better without the weak and he found himself struggling to even imagine what kind of person he thought he was. By no means was he a charity case and there was no way in Oblivion that he was going to just drop his plans to leave to help those kind of people. In truth those were the kind of people he preyed on, that's as much as he would ever get tangled with them.

"I'm serious," Vivia replied after his laughing subsided. "and my payment is just as serious."

His eyes lift upward from the small amount of gold that he was throwing into the little pouch and found himself weighing the bag. Yes, it would get him out of Skyrim but only so far. He'd have had more if that bitch Tonalia took his items but he was well aware of where that went. He didn't say anything and though he wasn't a mercenary he liked gold all the same.

"Hm?" Nils questioned, he felt like he was betraying himself.

"Enough to keep you wealthy for many years to come." The Nord male turned to stare at her from the corner of his eye. He trusted her once, look where that got him. But in the same sense he wasn't in a real place to be particular with where his next lump of gold came from. Although he really hated the idea of helping them.

"I'm sure you'll find somebody." Yeah, he wasn't about to help them and decided to get out of there before he got roped into something that he wasn't particularly inclined to do. Vivia fell silent, Nils tied the pouch of gold to his waist, and he then turned away to leave. He had enough of Markarth and it was time to get out of Skyrim as a whole. The girl stood in the room and he made his way to the door, the smell of fresh air and death hitting him in the face. "Please," he heard behind him as he pushed passed the door. "these people are counting on you."

Annoyed by the girl chasing him he gave her the cold shoulder as they padded down the steps. "No amount of gold is going to get me to do this. So if you'll piss off."

And then there was a feeling of eyes upon him once again, it unsettled him further when he looked upward to the keep.

The Nord found himself under the scrutiny of discontented souls. They appeared strong, death-like in truth, and though they wore pride like an open-wound they seemed to be quaking from beneath their great stone overhang like trees in a thundershower. He recognized terror like this and it made him reminisce slightly. Those days, before the Dragonborn had stolen them from him, souls like these would find themselves at his mercy. He didn't know that power anymore, probably never would, and with this thought he gave the few before him his own dark look.

"Is this the one, Vivia?" someone said, the voice was strong but had a certain pain to it. "Is he the one the Gods sent?"

They stared at one another like as if trying to figure out what was looking back at them in a looking glass. Vivia, now at Nils' side, stared up at those who had stood beneath the stone. The guards dressed in their dark robes circled around somebody as they carefully wandered down the steps. Unsure and quite frankly not wanting to be apart of this, Nils turned to his side and gave her a dark look. "I don't think you people understand: I'm not interested in helping."

"Vivia told us that you'd come and you did," the voice was stronger this time. He couldn't quite see who was speaking and he didn't particularly want to know. "And here you are."

"The bitch stole my ring so of course I came." Nils scoffed as he barred his teeth. The crowd moved slowly apart and finally his eyes fell upon an older man, dressed in dark robes and standing next to a Redguard woman. Her dark skin was stained from tears, her eyes like steel, and Nils cursed the entire situation that he found himself in. The others in the group were quiet as the elderly male walked forward towards Nils.

"Perhaps, but come." he said and though really wanting to leave, the Nord followed the other male. Behind him Vivia tailed the two and as they walked up the path to the other side of the city the little group found themselves staring at the charred remains of some fool. Nils' facial features twisted and with a cocked brow he crossed his arms over his chest. "The Dragonborn and the World-Eater," the elder said softly, his voice like a ghost. "they are working together to try and bring the world to it's knees."

Whatever they were trying to prove to him interested him very little. The Nord shook his head and Vivia looked to him with her large eyes. "If we don't stop them, if _you_ don't stop them, we will all end up like the Jarl."

"How exactly is this my problem?" Nils asked, he almost barked it. "I can't see the connection and quite frankly I don't care to see the connection."

The group of guards had then followed behind the small group and carefully watched those before them. The Nord shook his head at the old man and threw his arms to his side, fingers to palms in a fist. What part were they not getting? He didn't care, he didn't want to help, he stopped caring about the Dragonborn a long time ago and quite frankly this was somebody else's problem. Yet again he shook his head and this time he turned away to pass through all the guards.

"You will see in time, Nils Half-Troll," the elder said softly as Vivia filled the gap between the two of them. "we will be here when you do."

Whatever they were trying to get him to do he refused to take in any part of it. Now with his gold he felt capable of actually being able to get out of there and there was nobody going to stop him in the process. He had enough of Skryim and had enough of the nonsense, it was time to get a little rest and recuperation before he began to recreate what he had lost. The Dragonborn could have the world if that was the case, he just wanted to leave. It could all burn for all he cared.


End file.
